


screaming gold

by absurdiist (workthewentz)



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Human Revolution, Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, because it also makes me cry, i like making pritchard cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24350647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/workthewentz/pseuds/absurdiist
Summary: adam comes home injured from the blade, and francis gets emotional over almost losing him. a drabble.
Relationships: Adam Jensen/Francis Pritchard
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	screaming gold

**Author's Note:**

> i saw a writing prompt this morning:  
> "1. broken sunglasses  
> 2\. running water  
> 3\. crying kisses"  
> and thus, this was born!  
> enjoy!

bags hanging underneath them, jensen's vacant eyes stared back at francis. his screaming gold irises demanded attention, that once beautiful cool gunmetal blue now remniscient of the sun. they seemed out of place among the dirt caked into the lines of his chiseled face, his left eye bereft of half an eye shield. it had started out as a hairline fracture from the first graze of a tarvos bullet, but adam had taken heavy fire from a turret on his way out of the blade. as a result, what was left of the lens had split off somewhere among the ducking, rolling and shooting. sarif had given him backups for this kind of thing, but that would take a visit to koller. and for now, francis wasn't letting adam out of his sight.

he started in with a wet rag, wiping the soot from the injured man's skin while trying his damndest to be gentle. adam's face was tilted up towards the light, every scrape, scar, and scratch on display. but frank was their only audience and he willed them away, as if mere wishing could take back the mission he'd demanded adam take on. "i feel responsible," he started, and adam's eyes came back into focus to level him with a hardened look. 

"you couldn't have known," he said, his voice carrying a flat, tired tone that deadened all possibility of dissent. he planted his feet on the floor and braced himself to stand, legs shaking with the exertion. his torso resembled a watercolor palette, bruises in varying stages peppering what little skin he had left. the sentinel had begun repairing some of the damage, but there was a lot of it, and his implanted biocells were in limited working order. "i'll be back," he stated, and disappeared into the hallway.

francis registered the sound of the shower running, distant as a daydream, as their final moments in the blade played on a loop in his mind. shadowchild had opened the shaft, sure, but adam had drawn the attention of server drones and robots on his way out, and they followed him into the heat sensory room. there was nowhere he could hide, so it was up to him to fight. francis had watched through adam's eyes as he was cornered by machines, unable to escape and with meager ammunition. 

he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, pleading with the memory to leave him to no avail. in those moments, he had to face the truth: he didn't want adam to die. 

so he flew to prague, emergency red-eye transportation that cost him a small fortune. the eleven-hour flight had been torturous, restless. he'd discovered adam in his bedroom, curled up on his side between the sheets, eyes still vacant and skin covered in the remnant of fragmentation bombs and the pollution of the vlatva.

francis' palms came away wet and he stared at them for a moment, disoriented. when was the last time he had cried? the hacker was a bitter man; he knew this, and such displays of emotion were foreign to him. but once the tears had started, they persisted. he doubled in on himself, taking shaky, deep breaths as he attempted to compose his expression. he was startled as the couch dipped down next to him. adam had a towel wrapped around his waist, his chest bare and his hair dripping wet down his cheeks in a cruel mockery of the tears francis was trying to control. his voice was low as he reached his hand out, palm open as if in offering. "i'm here, francis. i promised you i wouldn't die out there." and he had, while the tech panicked half a world away, he'd whispered over the infolink. "i'm making it out of here, pritchard."

in lieu of response, francis grasped onto that soft, cool hand like a lifeline, yanking at adam's arm until their lips were pressed together. it was an awkward angle, but the other man melted, reaching his other hand up to thread in francis' hair. he shifted them so they were facing towards each other, never once losing contact. the tears on francis' face were salty, combining with the water dripping from adam's hair, but neither of them minded. 

he had come home, and that's all that mattered.


End file.
